Maku

  The night was always the quietest. That was exactly why Maku preferred it.

  Sound dulled after dusk. Conversations softened. The constant edge of vigilance eased just enough to let thoughts breathe. It had been a long while since they’d left the Central Forest, and the camp—army felt too generous a word—had come a long way. As he walked, Maku measured the spacing between the central tent and the perimeter almost unconsciously. Clean lines. Correct distance. Just as he had laid out for them.

  Maku smiled to himself. He couldn’t help wondering if life had always been this simple.

  All this time…could it really have been as simple as standing up, stepping away from the screen, and nudging the world in the right direction?

  As he moved through the camp, he idly spun spheres of condensed mana between his fingers, letting them orbit and collide in lazy arcs. To anyone watching, it looked like a parlor trick, simple juggling, nothing more.

  What they didn’t see were the layers.

  Each sphere contained another, rotating in the opposite direction. Balance within imbalance. Control stacked atop control. Maintaining it required constant, invisible correction. A hundred times harder than it appeared.

  His jaw tightened as a memory came unbidden.

  The spider. The thing that had humiliated him and exposed his weaknesses. He still remembered the way Barrett looked down at his broken body.

  For a brief moment, his control slipped, and his orbs wavered off axis.

  He exhaled slowly, focusing enough to regain control of them all.

  “Tribune Maku?”

  The voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.

  He blinked, surprised. He hadn’t noticed footsteps. Hadn’t felt anyone draw close.

  Maku turned.

  Eidel stood a short distance away, robes flowing softly in the night air. She looked, at first glance, almost unremarkable with her short dark hair, slight frame, and an expression that might’ve belonged to a scholar or court scribe.

  But Maku knew better.

  There was a predator’s stillness to her. A sharpness behind the eyes that never truly rested.

  “Yo,” he said easily.

  His gaze drifted past her. Zahir lingered a few steps back, pretending to loiter near a tent. Casual. Alert. There were others, no doubt, farther out. They never let her wander unguarded for long.

  “May we talk?” Eidel asked.

  “Suuuure,” Maku replied, stretching the word as the mana orbs continued their lazy dance.

  Her attention lingered on them. Just a fraction too long.

  “Unbelievable control,” she murmured. “From a fifth—”

  “Can we maybe not do the tier thing?” Maku interrupted mildly. “Sounds a lot like a slur.”

  She blinked, then laughed softly. “My apologies. Sometimes I forget myself.”

  “I know the feeling,” Maku said with a small smile.

  For just a moment, she looked almost embarrassed.

  “Come,” she said. “Let’s speak by our tent.”

  She turned without waiting.

  Maku followed, letting the spheres dissolve into nothing as he walked. Zahir’s eyes tracked him the entire way, sharp and unreadable like a hawk.

  Maku didn’t mind.

  If Eidel wanted a quiet conversation in the dark, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be about anything boring.

  —

  They reached their section of the camp, and Maku slowed, taking it in with quiet approval.

  Most of their equipment had been recovered from the orcs, though not all of it. Too much had burned in the fighting, warped beyond repair. Still, the essentials remained. The tents were up. They had their cookware, some weapons, and armor.

  What caught his eye next was the banner.

  It hung near the main tent, stirring faintly in the night breeze—a skull wreathed in clouds, rendered in black and gold.

  “Cool flag,” Maku said, nodding toward it.

  Eidel followed his gaze and smiled faintly. “Our empire’s banner. Would you like to know what it signifies?”

  “Not really,” Maku replied easily, already tossing another mana orb into motion between his fingers.

  She paused, studied him for half a beat, then laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s get to it, then.”

  She ducked into the largest tent at the center of the area, Zahir following close behind. Maku stepped in after them, the fabric falling shut and muting the sounds of the camp outside.

  The interior was sparse but orderly. A woven mat lay in one corner. A broad table dominated the center, a detailed map stretched across it and weighted down at the corners. No excess. No comfort for comfort’s sake.

  Maku glanced around. “Where do you sleep?”

  Eidel gestured toward the mat. “There.”

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  He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you royalty or something? They couldn’t spring for a bed?”

  She smiled, not offended. If anything, amused. “We are Handomeans, Tribune Maku. We did not become the strongest on Sinea by indulging in decadence.”

  Maku considered that, then snorted. “Barrett’s the toughest guy I know, and he’d haul a king-size mattress through a war zone if he could.”

  Eidel’s smile softened. “I can tell Imperator Barrett Donovan is someone you admire.”

  Maku’s eyes flicked to her, sharp now. “Let me save you some effort,” he said calmly. “Don’t try to wedge anything between us. We’re best friends.”

  She lifted her hands slightly. “I would never attempt that.”

  Maku let the moment pass and leaned over the table, studying the map. He quickly identified their likely position, then traced a route toward the coast to the only port city. EverGreen, no doubt.

  “How long until we reach the city?” he asked.

  “A week,” Eidel replied, eyes following his finger. “Perhaps a little more.”

  An honest answer. Neither of them knew what obstacles waited ahead.

  “We would arrive much sooner,” Zahir said from behind them, “if not for your camp tactics.”

  Eidel shot him a warning glance.

  Maku didn’t look up. “What’s wrong with my camp tactics?”

  “We waste time every night,” Zahir pressed. “Erecting your overly elaborate camp layout. Then tearing it down. If we abandoned all that structure, we’d be moving far faster.”

  “Okay,” Maku said mildly, adjusting the orbit of his mana spheres.

  Zahir stiffened. “Okay what?”

  “Okay,” Maku replied, finally turning to face him, eyes locking on the scarred man’s. “We keep doing it my way.”

  There it was. The edge beneath his calm. He hadn’t forgotten Zahir hurting Barrett, and part of him had been waiting for a reason to bare teeth.

  “Zahir,” Eidel snapped. “Mind your place.”

  “He’s wasting our time,” Zahir shot back, never breaking eye contact with Maku.

  “He is not,” Eidel said firmly. She began pacing the tent, fingers brushing the table as she spoke. “I believed his methods inefficient as well—at first.”

  Maku blinked. “What changed your mind?”

  She nodded. “People require security. Not only physical, but psychological. His camps provide routine. Structure. Familiarity. That allows people to rest more deeply.”

  She continued pacing, thinking aloud now. “These villagers need precise instruction or they default to the bare minimum. By enforcing strict standards, you remove hesitation. They act faster each night. There’s no debate, no confusion. Just execution.”

  She gestured broadly. “They don’t get lost after dark with a familiar layout. Your latrine placement minimizes disease. Morale stabilizes.” A pause. “Even fear has less room to grow.”

  Maku noticed Zahir rolling his eyes.

  When Eidel stopped, she looked directly at him. “Very wise, Tribune Maku.”

  Maku froze.

  He’d never thought of it like that. He’d just…done it because it looked cool. Same reason he’d given everyone Roman titles.

  “Well,” he said awkwardly, “yes. Of course. I’m glad you see the wisdom in my policies.”

  She held his gaze a moment longer than necessary, and to his surprise, she blushed faintly.

  “Zahir,” she said quietly, “leave us.”

  The scarred man opened his mouth, thought better of it, then nodded. As he exited the tent, he cast Maku a look heavy with meaning, and maybe even a little pity.

  Maku watched him go, then glanced back at Eidel, one orb still spinning lazily in his palm.

  Huh, he thought. This just got interesting.

  —

  “There,” she said softly, closing the distance between them.

  Her voice lowered, almost intimate. “Have you thought about what comes after this? After we arrive at Midreach?”

  “I’m guessing that’s where the ships are taking us,” Maku replied. He noticed then how closely she was watching him. There was an intensity to her gaze that made his instincts prickle.

  She nodded once.

  “Can’t say I have,” he admitted, summoning more mana orbs and letting them spin lazily in the air. “Figured I’d see what Barrett—Imperator Donovan—wanted to do.” He glanced away.

  Eidel watched him with open amusement.

  “You seem very fond of playing with your little…orbs.”

  Maku laughed. “It’s a great way to kill time when I’m bored.”

  She reached out and placed a hand lightly on his arm, her touch deliberate, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Am I boring you?” she teased.

  Maku met her gaze fully.

  “No,” he said evenly. “But you’re also not completely stimulating me.”

  She laughed, unoffended.

  Then her eyes changed.

  Smoke—dark, fluid, alive—bled into them, curling and churning like ink in water. Maku’s focus slipped, just for an instant. His mana constructs unraveled, drifting away without resistance.

  He blinked.

  The tent was gone.

  He stood in a void of absolute black. Cold. Empty. Then metal screamed into existence around him—bars slamming into place, a steel cage forming in a heartbeat.

  Above him floated Eidel.

  Not in her robes.

  She wore black armor now, sleek and cruel, broken by deliberate gaps that exposed skin. Her hair floated as though underwater, eyes bright with manic delight.

  “This is neat,” Maku said, looking around.

  “Do I have your full attention now?” she asked.

  Maku’s eyes flared. Mana disks snapped into existence at his arms. He hurled them, carving through the cage in shrieking arcs of metal. He stepped forward, conjuring a few mana javelins and launching them skyward in a single, precise volley.

  Eidel’s eyes flashed.

  Maku blinked—

  —and found himself pinned to a metal table.

  Steel spikes drove through his limbs, anchoring him in place. Pain tore through him, sharp and overwhelming, ripping the breath from his lungs.

  Panic clawed up his spine.

  Eidel descended slowly, her expression calm now. Studious.

  “Let’s talk,” she said.

  “Was…was all this really necessary?” Maku asked between strained breaths, fighting to keep his mind from splintering.

  She smiled faintly. “I thought it would help you focus.”

  “You’re sick,” Maku muttered.

  “I’m tired of being lied to,” she replied coolly. “You expect me to believe you all arrived clueless from a fifth world, with a Chronomancer in tow?”

  “Chrono what?” Maku asked.

  Her fist clenched.

  The spikes twisted.

  Maku bit down hard, refusing to scream.

  “I can keep you here for hours,” she said calmly. “Outside, only moments will pass.”

  Pain blurred his vision. And then, he laughed.

  It came out ragged, half hysterical.

  “What’s funny?” she asked.

  “I thought you were hitting on me earlier,” he said through broken laughter.

  “Who says I wasn’t?” she replied, smiling.

  For the first time, Maku felt genuinely out of his depth. He had no framework—no familiar pattern—for dealing with someone like her. His brain couldn’t form a predictive model to anticipate her moves. Against an opponent like this, there was only one option left to him.

  “I’ll give you one more chance to escape with your mind,” she said. “After that, I break you.”

  The spikes tightened again.

  “Which faction are you with?” she demanded. “And the girl—Pippy. What are your intentions with her?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Maku said honestly.

  Eidel studied him, frustration flickering. “I had hoped this would go better.”

  Her fist rose.

  “Wait—wait!” Maku blurted.

  She paused.

  “Check this out,” he said, grinning despite the pain.

  Her eyes widened as tens—no, hundreds—of mana javelins had materialized around her during their conversation, hovering silently. More formed every second.

  She turned slowly.

  When she looked back, Maku was smiling like a man who’d been enjoying himself the entire time.

  “Ready or not—”

  He blinked.

  The tent snapped back into existence.

  Maku lay sprawled on the ground, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. Eidel stood over him, studying him with renewed curiosity.

  The tent flap burst open.

  “Your Eminence,” Zahir said sharply. His gaze flicked to Maku, then back to Eidel. “We’re under attack.”

  Maku chuckled weakly, pushing himself onto an elbow.

  “Good thing…” he managed between breaths, “…someone made sure the camp was fortified.”

  A soft laugh answered him.

  He lifted his head slowly and found Eidel watching him—not with amusement alone, but with a sharp, newly awakened intensity that hadn’t been there before.

  His thoughts went first to Barrett. He found himself quietly relieved that she hadn’t set her sights on the big guy. Partly because he didn’t want someone that dangerous anywhere near his friend, and partly because…he hadn’t quite decided what to make of her himself.